But there was one place, only a few steps in front of her, that was untouched. A perfect circle, as if the blood had struck an invisible wall.

  Serilda swallowed hard against the lump that had begun to clog her throat as she told the story. She could see it all clearly now. The prince standing amid the bloodshed in this very room. She could picture his flame-red hair. The freckles on his cheeks. The flecks of gold in his eyes. She could see his fury and his sorrow. His courage and his devastation. She had seen it all herself—how he wore these emotions in the set of his shoulders and the quirk of his lips and the vulnerability in his gaze. She had even seen the scar on his wrist, where the arrow had pierced him. Where the Erlking had cursed him.

  Gild.

  Gild was the prince. This was his castle and the stolen princess was his sister and—

  And he had no idea. He didn’t remember any of it. He couldn’t remember any of it.

  Serilda inhaled a shaky breath and dared to finish the story, her voice barely a whisper.

  “The Erlking’s wicked spell was cast, his gruesome revenge complete. But the massacre that happened in that castle…” She paused with a shudder. “The massacre that happened here was so horrific that it tore a hole into the veil that had long separated the dark ones from the world of the living.”

  In response to her words, the blood on either side of that untouched circle began to flow upward. Two thick rivulets, the color of burgundy wine and thick as molasses, crawled toward the ceiling. When they were not much taller than Serilda herself, they moved inward and drew together, forming a doorway in the air. A doorway framed in blood.

  Then, from the center of the doorway, the blood dripped … upward.

  In slow, steady drops.

  Climbing toward the rafters.

  Serilda followed its trail, up.

  Up.

  To a body hung from the chandelier.

  Her stomach lurched.

  A child. A little girl.

  For a moment, she thought it was Gerdrut and she opened her mouth to scream—

  But the rope turned with a creak and she could see that it was not Gerdrut. The girl’s face was almost unrecognizable.

  Almost.

  But she knew it was the princess she’d seen in the locket.

  The kidnapped child.

  Gild’s sister.

  Serilda wanted to rail. To howl. To tell the old gods and whoever was listening that this was not how the story was meant to end. The prince should have defeated the wicked king, saved his sister, saved them all.

  He should never have been trapped in this horrid place.

  He should never have been forgotten.

  The Erlking was not supposed to win.

  But even as her tears built up, Serilda clenched her teeth and refused to let them fall.

  There was still one child who might be saved tonight. One heroic deed to perform.

  With tightened fists, she stepped through the tear in the veil.

  Chapter 51

  The blood was gone. The castle returned to its splendor.

  Serilda had only ever seen the throne room as part of the castle ruins. This was where the pool of blood had leaked between the brittle weeds and clung to her footsteps. Where the two thrones on the dais alone seemed to have been preserved in time, untouched by the centuries of neglect. They looked the same now as they did on the mortal side of the veil, but now the rest of the room was as pristine to match them. Vast chandeliers lit with dozens of candles. Thick carpets and fur skins and black velvet drapes hung behind the dais, framing the thrones. Pillars carved from white marble, each one depicting a tatzelwurm climbing toward the ceiling, its long serpentine tail spiraling all the way to the floor.

  And there was the Erlking, waiting for her upon his throne.

  Beside him, a sight that brought a shuddering gasp from Serilda’s lips.

  Hans. Nickel. Fricz. Anna.

  Their little ghosts standing to either side of the throne, holes in their chests and their nightgowns stained with blood.

  “Serilda!” Anna cried. She started to run off the dais, but was blocked by the king’s crossbow.

  She whimpered and fell back, clutching at Fricz.

  “How miraculous,” the Erlking drawled. “You’ve returned from the dead. Though looking rather unkempt. Why, one might think you spent the night dead by the side of a river.”

  Hatred burbled like a sulfur spring inside of her. “Why would you take them? Why would you do this?”

  He shrugged mildly. “I think you know the answer to that.” His fingers drummed against the crossbow handle. “I told you to stay close. To be present in Adalheid when I summoned you. Imagine my disappointment to find you were not in Adalheid. I was forced to search for you yet again—but no one was home at the mill in Märchenfeld.” His eyes crystallized. “How do you think that makes me feel, Lady Serilda? That you could not be bothered to bid farewell. That you would rather die than assist me with one simple favor.” A haughty smile touched his dark-tinted lips. “Or at least, pretend to.”

  “I’m here now,” she said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “Please let them go.”

  “Who? Them? These darling little ghouls? Don’t be absurd. I’ve claimed them for my court, now and forever. They’re mine.”

  “No. Please.”

  “Even if I could let them go, have you considered what that would mean? Let them go home? I’m sure their families would be thrilled to have sad little ghosts haunting their sad little cottages. No, best they stay with me where they can be made useful.”

  “You could free their spirits,” she said around a sob. “They deserve peace. They deserve to go to Verloren, to rest.”

  “Speak not of Verloren,” he growled, sitting taller. “When Velos gives me what is mine, then I will consider releasing these souls, and not a moment sooner.” His rush of anger passed as quickly as it had risen, and he leaned against one arm of the throne, resting the crossbow in his lap. “Speaking of what is owed to me, I have another task for you, Lady Serilda.”

  She thought of her promise to Pusch-Grohla. She had sworn she would not help the Erlking anymore.

  But she was a liar, through and through.

  “You took one more child,” she said through gritted teeth. “If you want any more gold from me, then you will let her go. You will return her to her family, unharmed.”

  “You are hardly in a position to be making demands.” He sighed, almost melodramatically. “She is a pretty thing, for a human. Not as pretty as the Adalheid princess. Now, she was a gift my love would have doted on like no other. Sweet, charming … talented. They say she was blessed by Hulda, just like you, Lady Serilda. Her death was such a waste. As will yours be, if it comes to that.”

  “You’re trying to goad me,” said Serilda through her teeth.

  The Erlking smiled quite viciously. “I take my enjoyment where I can.”

  Serilda swallowed and glanced behind her, unsure how she should feel to see that the doorway back to the mortal world was still there.

  She could leave. Could he follow her? She suspected not. If it was so easy, surely he would not have stayed confined to the veil, allowed freedom but one night each cycle of the moon.

  But she couldn’t leave.

  Not without Gerdrut.

  Her gaze traveled up toward the rafters, but the princess who had been hung from the chandelier was gone. Her body would have been disposed of long ago. Buried or tossed into the lake. Serilda knew her ghost was not here in the castle. Either she’d been left behind in Gravenstone, or sent on to Verloren. Otherwise, she was sure she would have noticed her among the ghostly servants, and Gild would have known immediately who the portrait depicted.

  Gild.

  Where was Gild? Where were any of the ghosts? The castle felt eerily quiet, and she wondered if the Erlking could force their silence when it pleased him to do so.

  She fixed her gaze on the king again, trying hard not to think about the four trembling children beside him. The ones she had already failed.

  She would not fail Gerdrut, too.

  “Why did you abandon Gravenstone?” she asked, and was pleased at the surprise that flashed over his face. “Was it truly because you couldn’t stand to be in the place where Perchta had fallen? Or did you choose to claim this castle as another layer of revenge against the prince who killed her? It must have felt quite satisfying at first. Do you sleep in his quarters and listen to the moans and cries of the ones you murdered all night long? Does that please you?”

  “You enjoy a mystery, Lady Serilda.”

  “I like a good story. I like when one takes an unexpected turn. What’s interesting to me is that I don’t think even you have figured out the final twist in this tale.”

  The Erlking’s lips curled with amusement. “That the little mortal girl will be saving everyone?”

  Serilda clicked her tongue. “Don’t spoil the ending for yourself,” she said, proud of how brave she sounded. Though in reality, she hadn’t been thinking of her own role in this tale at all. They say she was blessed by Hulda. That was it—the real reason the Erlking had wanted the princess. Not just for Perchta to dote on, not just because the child was so beloved among her people. He had believed that she was the gold-spinner. He had taken her for her magic, probably so she could spin golden chains for his hunts.

  To this day, centuries later, he still didn’t know. He’d taken the wrong sibling.

  Of course, Serilda wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “The story still hasn’t revealed whether or not you kept the princess’s ghost,” she said. “Did you release her to Verloren, or is she still in Gravenstone? I understand why you couldn’t bring her back here, of course. The love the prince felt for her was so strong—surely, if he saw her, he would know that she was his sister and that he loved her very much. I think that’s why I haven’t seen the king and queen, either. You didn’t keep their ghosts. You couldn’t risk them recognizing each other, or their son. Maybe it wouldn’t break the curse entirely. Maybe their family and their name would still be forgotten by everyone, even themselves, but … that wasn’t the point, was it? You wanted him to be alone, abandoned … without love. Forever.”

  The Erlking’s face was that cold mask he favored, but she was coming to know his moods, and she could see the tension in his jaw.

  “How do you know the things you do?” he finally asked.

  Serilda had no answer for him. She could hardly tell him that she’d been cursed by the god of lies, who somehow, it seemed, was as much the god of truths.

  No. Not the god of lies. The god of stories.

  And every story has two sides.

  “You brought me here,” she said. “A mortal in your realm. I’ve been paying attention.”

  His mouth quirked to one side. “Tell me—do you know the family’s name? Have you solved that mystery?”

  She blinked.

  The family’s name.

  The prince’s name.

  Slowly, she shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have seemed relieved at this.

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “I am not a fan of fairy stories.”

  “That is unfortunate, as you are in so many of them.”

  “Yes, but I am always cast as the villain.” He craned his head. “Even you cast me as the villain.”

  “It is hard not to, my lord. Why, just this morning you abandoned four children by the side of the road, their hearts devoured by nachtkrapp and their bodies left to the rest of the scavengers.” Her chest squeezed and she dared not look at the spirits standing at the king’s side, knowing she would dissolve into tears if she did. “I think you rather like playing the villain.”

  Finally, a real smile graced his features, down to the sharp points of his teeth. “And who is the hero of this story?”

  “I am, naturally.” Serilda hesitated a moment, before adding, “At least, I hope to be.”

  “Not the prince?”

  It felt like a trap, but Serilda knew better. She laughed lightly. “He’s had his moments. But no. This is not his story.”

  “Ah.” He clucked his tongue. “Perhaps you are trying to save him, then.”

  Her smile wanted to fade but she clung to it. Of course she wanted to save Gild. She desperately wanted to save him from the torment he’d endured these hundreds of years. But she could not let the Erl-king know that she had met the poltergeist, or that she finally knew the truth of who and what he was.

  “Once I’ve met him, I will let you know,” she said, keeping her tone light. She made a show of looking around the throne room. “Is he here? You tethered him to this castle, so he must be around somewhere?”

  “Oh, he is,” said the Erlking. “And I regret it more days than not. He is a constant thorn in my side.”

  “Then why not release him from the curse?”

  “He deserves every bit of suffering he’s been given and more.”

  Serilda gritted her teeth. “I will keep that in mind, when I finally cross his path.” She lifted her chin. “If we have a deal, then I am ready to complete your task.”

  His pale eyes glinted in the torchlight. “Everything is already prepared for you.”

  Chapter 52

  As the king strode past her, Serilda ushered the children to her sides. Touching them, she remembered how it had first felt when Manfred had helped her into the carriage, so many months ago.

  They were real. They were solid. But their skin was brittle and delicate and cool to the touch. They felt like they would crumple to ash, but that didn’t prevent her from squeezing them into a giant hug in a hasty attempt to give some comfort.

  The Erlking cleared his throat impatiently.

  She gripped Anna’s and Nickel’s hands and followed after him, ignoring how the sensation made her skin crawl. Fricz and Hans huddled at their sides.

  The king led them to the courtyard.

  Emerging into daylight was bewildering enough. The castle was not ruins. She really had forced her way to this side of the veil, and now she was in the bailey beneath the bright sun. Her feet stalled.

  A spinning wheel sat in the center of the yard, beside a cart laden with straw. It was a small pile, not much larger than a barrel of wine.

  And all around it, gathered within the looming stone walls, were the residents of Adalheid Castle.

  The hunters. The servants. The bruised stable boy, the one-eyed coachman, the headless woman. Hundreds of undead humans, and at least as many kobolds. All silent and still, their eyes upon her as she stepped into their midst.

  As a group, their ephemeral figures were more pronounced. Their cumulative silhouettes wisping upward like smoke off the last remnants of a bonfire. They seemed so tenuous, as though a breath could blow them away.

  She could not keep herself from scanning their faces, searching for a woman who might look a little bit like her. Hoping that one of these ghostly women might recognize the child she’d once loved, now full grown.

  But if her mother was there, Serilda did not recognize her.

  Her attention drifted toward the dark ones. Their graceful forms and cunning eyes. All dressed in the finest of furs and leather armor and hunting gear. They were the nobles of this castle, and as such, they stood apart from the ghostly entourage, their expressions unreadable.

  The contrast between the two groups was stark. The dark ones in all their pristine, unearthly beauty. The ghosts with their battered bodies and bleeding wounds.

  Then there were the creatures—nightmare drudes, snarling goblins, the soulless nachtkrapp.

  All the court was there, and they were waiting for her.

  Serilda’s stomach dropped. No.

  This would not work. There would be no more dungeons. No locked doors. The king intended for her to give a demonstration. She was his prize, and he was ready to show her off to his kingdom, just as he’d once showed off the tatzelwurm to her.

  She swallowed hard and glanced around again. She didn’t realize she was looking for Gild until disappointment at his absence clawed at her.

  Not that it mattered.

  He could not spin for her, not in front of everyone. And even if he could … she’d promised herself that she would not allow him to. Not again.

  But that was before.

  Before the children had been taken.

  Before she’d realized he still had Gerdrut. That she could still save her.

  “Behold,” said Erlkönig, the Alder King, his eyes locked on Serilda’s but his voice raised for the gathered crowd, “the Lady Serilda of Märchenfeld, godchild of Hulda.”

  She did not look away.

  “On the Snow Moon, this girl told me that she had been blessed with the gift of gold-spinning, and these past months, she has proven her worth, to me and to the hunt.” His lips curled upward. “As such, I thought that tonight, in celebration of our victorious hunt of the tatzelwurm, I would invite Lady Serilda to honor us all with the splendor of her gift.”

  Serilda tried not to fidget under his stare and the curious silence around her, though her insides were roiling. She signaled to the children to wait on the steps and approached the king, trying not to let him see how she was trembling.

  “Please, Your Grim,” she whispered, angling her face away from the crowd. “I have never spun before an audience. I am not accustomed to such attentions, and would far prefer—”

  “Your preferences mean little here,” said the Erlking. One slender eyebrow arched. “Dare I say, they mean nothing at all.”

  One of the ravens squawked, as if laughing at her.

  She exhaled slowly. “And yet, I am sure that I will be more efficient if I could just have some peace and solitude.”

  “I should think you would be adequately motivated to impress me.”

  She held his gaze, searching for another excuse. Any excuse.

  “I’m not sure my magic will work if people are watching.”